Worth It
by Loobylooxxx
Summary: Changed forever, Harry has less control over his instincts than even his Sire. Going back to Hogwarts, can he be saved from his demons?
1. Blood

Albert Maxstein was a banker. On his way home from his day at the office, he strode quickly towards the nearest Tube station, scrolling through several messages on his phone as he walked. It was dark, the only light was the one from his phone, illuminating his face. Shivering slightly, he pulled his jacket closer to his body and he walked close to the walls of the empty shops on his side, seeking the slight heat they gave off. He looked up, turned, and began to cross the road, yet he never got his foot off the pavement.

The dark haired vampire hadn't eaten in days, thus his predicament of stalking the streets at this hour, looking for somebody, anybody to drain. The last two feeds had been complete disasters, going out with his sire was so –boring-! Constant reminders of 'Don't kill', and 'Only take what you need'. Why? Muggles, and all people really were just containers, it was the stuff inside that mattered.

The vampire brought himself out of his reminiscing with a jerk, as he scented the sweet smell of blood near. Even better: it wasn't weakened by drugs, which was the only type of blood he was expecting to get at this hour, really. He snuck up the maze of alleyways silently, led only by his nose until he caught a glimpse of a muggle. It was wearing a suit, and gazing down at a mobile phone, distracted. So much easier to handle that way...

He snaked out a pale arm, jerking the man down the alleyway with him, his hand across the man's mouth before he even had time to scream. His fangs descending, teeth looming over the man's face. The man's eyes widened and the vampire could smell the adrenaline pumping through the man's veins. And then he was biting, sharp teeth ripping through soft skin, and the blood was pumping down his throat, and –God- it tasted so good, and he was sucking and sucking and sucking, and...

The man dropped to the floor, pale and shrunken, his heart having stopped beating a couple of minutes previously. The dark vampire licked the blood from around his lips and brushed his hair back off his face. The light off the man's abandoned phone glanced off his forehead illuminating the lightning bolt scar that lay there.

"Oh God" the vampire muttered. "He's gonna be so pissed..."

Looking around him, the young vampire slowly opened the door to the large manor he currently resided in, taking care not to make a sound. Edging in, he swiftly closed the door behind him, and unclipped his cloak, moving to place it on the rack, before heading to the stairs and beginning to climb them.

His stomach was pleasantly full, the blood sloshing around satisfyingly as he moved. It was this sensation that directed the route his thoughts went down as he quickly and silently walked towards his bedroom. 'Worth it? Hell yeah! This is the best I've felt in ages... He's gonna kill me though, he will know, though God only know how... Still...'

His thought processes cut off abruptly as he entered his bedroom, and saw his Sire stood there, motionless in the moonlight, the milky rays reflecting off his bright red eyes.

There was silence for a few moments, before the Childe went to kneel at his Sire's feet.

"Good evening Lord Voldemort." Harry murmured.


	2. Changing

Voldemort stalked through his manor, down the corridor, up the stairs and into his study in the South Wing of his home. Despite his cool exterior, he was concerned for his Childe. Maybe it had been a mistake to turn the boy, especially at the tender age of 15. The boy simply couldn't control himself!

He sighed, unclipping his cloak and draping it over the chair in the corner of the room. Lost in his own thoughts, his mind drifted back to that night, the night he turned the Saviour of the Wizarding World into a creature of darkness.

*Flashback*

Voldemort stood tall as he hadn't been able to do for so long. After the humiliation of having to depend on Wormtail for nearly a year, he was in control again. He could stand up, speak as much as he wanted too: he wasn't weak anymore!

He was hungry though. Having only Wormtail as a pathetic blood donor for nearly a year, his body was weak. Oh to drain somebody right now... He shuddered as the pangs of hunger ripped through his body. He needed to feed. And soon.

He sniffed, air grating through his collapsed nostrils. Blood... He could smell two scents, one dying, and one so full of life, its heart beating rapidly... So full of fear...

He twisted his body round, swiftly appearing at the source of the terrified boy. He didn't even pause to see who it was, whose body his teeth were sinking into, whose voice was yelling, was screaming, and then softly crying as they realised they were growing weaker, were going to die...

'Stop.' The voice said in his mind. 'Stop. You've had enough' Despite the faint traces of hunger still piercing his stomach, Voldemort lifted his head, revealing blood stained teeth which slowly retracted as he licked the excess from around his mouth. The neck he has just ravaged was ripped open, a gaping hole in the side of it. Still, shallow breathing was still forcing its way through the torn throat, causing blood to bubble at the side of the neck.

He saw black hair, matted with blood, glasses hanging off the side of a pale face. Was that... Could he have possibly...

He gripped the almost lifeless face, turning it towards himself. The scar, so prominent on Potter's pale face. He'd drained Harry Potter. _This wasn't the way he was supposed to die!_

The eyelids, which had previously been closed, flickered, opening to reveal dull green eyes, almost lifeless but for the way they roamed around, never stopping on one place too long. He hated him. The patheticness of the boy, of how frail he looked. How weak and pathetic. So morally righteous. So prejudice against things he had no idea about.

And then he knew. He knew how to punish Harry Potter. To kill the boy, it was tempting yes, but to force him to submit to him, to turn him into the very thing he despised. And then, when the boy was truly and utterly broken, to parade him, to show the Wizarding World what fools they had been to put all their hopes on this one child.

His fangs flooded his mouth as soon as he thought about them, ripping into his wrist; he waited until the blood flow was nice and thick, before forcing his wrist into Potter's open mouth. The boy swallowed convulsively once, twice. His breathing stopped. His heart stopped. His skin grew paler. And then red eyes were opened once more, with a new perspective on the world.

*End of Flashback*

Voldemort now knew how naive he'd been to assume that his Childe would not adjust to his new vamparic life. Indeed, his Childe was more bloodthirsty, more sadistic, than he had been when he had first been turned in his late 30's.

Pulling out of his reverie, Voldemort sniffed the air. His Childe was close. He swiftly walked to their room, waiting by the window with the glow of the moon behind him. His Childe was sneaking up the stairs, trying to enter their room quietly, to appease his Master with his words and touches. As he did now:

"Good evening, Lord Voldemort"

"My Childe. You have fed tonight?" He replied. He could smell the amount of blood in his Childe's stomach. Disobeyed him again. He was a fool to think that even death could cure Potter of his rebellious spirit.

"Yes Master"

"And you drained again?" The test. Did his Childe respect him enough to tell the truth?

"No Master."


End file.
